


Rewritten

by inferablefiend



Category: Mass Effect Andromeda, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Coping, Death, Death of a loved one, F/M, Friendship, Healing, Love, Shepard's death, Suicide, Thane Krios - Freeform, coward - Freeform, major death, selfish reason, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2019-10-21 12:36:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17642960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inferablefiend/pseuds/inferablefiend
Summary: a collection of fanfictions I've written over the years rewritten with what I believe is a far better skill. I hope you enjoy them and I will update the tags and list as this goes along.





	1. save me from the gun

**Author's Note:**

> major TW for those who suffer from suicidal thoughts. 
> 
> This is a rewrite for a oneshot I wrote back in 2019 called Vengeance.

Shepard pulls the band out her hair and twists it onto her wrist, the pain reminding her of the present where she stands. It does nothing to touch the internal pain that threatens to rip her apart and kill her inside out. It speaks his name in hushed whispers, insuring her she knows exactly what happened. Exactly how it happened. Tears roll down her face, tasting of salt and disappoint. More pain. She needs more of it to distract her. Her fist slams uselessly into the wall of her quarters, sobs escaping her body.

Why did he have to die? Isn’t there enough research to rescue him? Cerberus brought her back to life, but they couldn’t fix  a simple lung problem. It probably doesn’t help he’s not human. Neither the Council nor the Illusive Man listened to her pleas for help. They’re all going to die anyway, what’s the point? Why not do it now?

Her gun lays on the table and she stands there, fist still connected to the wall. In one quick, fluid motion, she could be dead on the floor and meeting him across the sea. Her head falls forward, chasing the thought from her mind temporarily. 

She just couldn’t protect him and that’s the worst of it. He came to her need, even in the middle of his sickness and she couldn’t… More sobs shake her down to her core, forcing her to drop to her knees as she puts her head against the cool wall. There he is, blood pouring from his stomach. Him or the Council. They both knew what she was going to choose. Duty before love and he understood that. He understood that.

Shepard runs a hand through her hair, pulling on the ends. Pain rears its ugly head and skips across her scalp in little prickles, not quite the pain she wants. The ends of her hair should been burning, begging to be released. 

With more force, she slams her fist into the wall again, biting down on her lip to keep from screaming as something shifts in her hand. It’s a good pain, one that blinds her as she opens her eyes to asses the damage. It throbs constantly, almost to the beat of her heart as it pounds harder. 

An unwanted visitor appears, her door whooshing open even though she’s quite sure she locked it. Garrus Vakarian stares at her in mute shock, his mouth hanging open. Her one rule is to never show weakness on the floor. The quarters are different and Thane’s the only one who knows of her nightmares and her anxieties. He’s the only one who understood it all and why she kept it secret.

Her face is tight and sticky as she stands to meet his bright blue eyes. A headache forms, stretching from behind her right eye to the edges of her brow, a burning sensation that doesn’t go away even when she presses a cool hand to it. “Garrus, you shouldn’t be here.”

Shooting herself in front of him isn’t an option and she has to somehow get him out. He steps forward, his claws reaching for her, but Shepard shies away from his touch. “No. I don’t want to be pitied. I don’t want to be held. I just want him back, no matter what that takes.”

Garrus isn’t stupid. He’s never been stupid. His eyes flicker to the gun resting innocently on her table and he sidesteps. “You can’t,” he says simply.

“And what’s stopping me?” Shepard growls, holding her injured hand. Bright purple bruises splatter across it as if paint dripped down from the heavens.

“The galaxy needs you.” He’s merely trying to stall for time. She glares at him, knowing her full six feet isn’t enough to intimidate him into leaving.

The galaxy can blow itself to hell and back. It can explode for all she fucking cares. “Leave. That is a direct order, Vakarian.” She points to the door, meeting his eyes with a challenge. Will he ignore a direct order from his commander?

“No.”

“You are being insubordinate.”

“And you are being selfish.”

“Why can’t I be selfish? When in all of this goddamn Reaper mess have I thought of myself? My dreams are plagued with them, the people we’ve lost. And the souls we’re going to lose. I’ve done nothing but think of the galaxy and everyone else. Where do I come in?”

Garrus steps towards her, grabbing her arm quickly and pulling her in for a tight hug. His keel digs into her chest as he holds her, arms trapped by her sides. It’s not an accident he’s gotten her into this position. Try as she might, she’s no match for turian strength. 

An idea comes quickly and swiftly, if carried out right, will force him to release her instantly. Slow, she sneaks her fingers under his clothing, her hand searching and digging into the soft side between his plates, causing him to hiss and let go of her. Garrus taught her that move when they sparred and never once did she think she’d use it against him. “Odessa-”

“Vakarian, I am your commanding officer and you  _ will  _ leave.” She lowers her body into a fighting stance, ready to take him out. “You don’t ignore an outright order.”

For a moment, time pauses and she thinks he’s actually going to listen. He turns as if to go out the door and spins back around, grabbing the gun off the table, pressing the muzzle to her head. “If you go, then I will kill you. If you believe this is what Thane wants, then I’ll pull the trigger.”

His eyes are steady against hers, his arm straight and his claw resting gently on the trigger. Shepard closes her eyes, fresh tears making tracks and dripping off her chin. “I…” The cabin remains quiet except for the bubbling of her empty fish tank and his breaths. It’s a stand still.

Shepard will never ask someone to take her life, it’s cowardly. To do it yourself is… cowardly. To give her life to a cause is heroic, even if her motivations in the end are selfish. She collapses onto the floor, her entire body caving into the pain pitted deep in her stomach. A writhing mass of tangled emotions, one of them shining brighter than the others.

She can’t stop the tears or the sobs that scream through her throat. “He’s gone, Garrus,” she hiccups as she feels him pick her up. “He’s fucking gone.”

The turian says nothing, simply laying her down on her bed and crawling in beside her, pulling her close to him as she turns and buries her face into the fabric of his clothing. Her body is numb, the only true sensation that drives the pain away is him combing through her hair, a rumbling in his chest almost like a cat’s purr. 

Selfish reasons aside, seeing this war out might kill her. She can only hope it kills her. It’s an old key locking the door on her resolve and an unfortunate solution to her pain.


	2. nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a rewrite of Plagued Her written back in 2016. one of my favorite and few fics with Shepard and Thane in it. I'm thinking of expanding it if anyone is interested.

The dreams plague her, like they do every night. Air hisses through her ears, her grunts being broadcasted to her team as they listen helplessly to her plummet to her death. Hands scratch at her helmet, her suit, attempts in vain as she locates the source of the leak. Sweat pools down her back as her suit heats up with the unbearable force of the atmosphere around her, a white planet growing ever bigger under her feet. Closer and closer and… The sight of her ‘grave’ sends her twisting in her blanket, panicking as it ties her feet together. Odessa sirs up, tearing at it and the hair wrapped around her neck in a noose. Her eyes settle on the empty fish tank, processing she’s alive.

Details of her room come slowly to her, the couch, her table in the middle with the information on the Reapers and the Illusive Man piled high. She counts the little figurines she can see by the light of her fish tank. One, two… Her chest flutters with fear, slowly disappearing as she makes her way to ten. The remnants of her dream cling to the last of her sleep, begging to be noticed again.

She shakes the webs from her head, carefully untangling her feet and planting them on the floor, grounding her further to reality. She pushes herself up, standing for a moment as dizziness spins her head. “Fuck, when will they stop?” Shepard mutters, combing a hand through her hair.

Sleep is no longer an option and she needs to get rest somehow. Gardner keeps packaged hot coco in a secret stash, once catching her panicking in the middle of the empty kitchen. “It’ll help. Chocolate helps with anything,” he said softly, pressing a cup into her hands.

It did exhaust her body enough to allow her to rest again and this is the goal once more. Shepard slips on a robe, padding out of her quarters and into the elevator. The crew deck is dimly lit, just enough to allow her to walk towards the kitchen with bumping her shins and making excess noise. The last thing she wants is to disturb any of her crew this late at night. The cupboard for the cups is right above her and she reaches up, not finding the engraved ceramic of her favorite mug. “What the hell,” she growls, turning around and sliding a chair across the tile, wincing as it scrapes unpleasantly. She freezes, waiting for a voice, but nothing comes. Climbing on top of the chair, she opens the cupboard more and peers inside. “Where is my cup?”

“Siha…” Thane’s gravelly voice nearly scares her right off the chair. She grips the back, coming down from it before she falls. “It’s almost midnight. What are you doing up?”

“I’m getting hot chocolate,” she says. It’s not a lie. She is getting hot chocolate, if she can find her cup.

On more than one occasion, she’s thought of mentioning the nightmares to him. Of inviting him into her quarters to sleep next to her, maybe not even having to verbalize what she goes through. Then she’d be forced to tell him rather than live in the fear of being rejected by him.

Plus he has his own problems to contend with, like dying.

“Siha.” One word and the dam breaks forth. Tears silently stream from the corners of her eyes as she brings a hand to her mouth to stop from noisily sobbing. Her robe sleeve barely does anything to keep the noises from escaping. Fear courses back into her system, sending her into shaking realizations as visions of the approaching planet encases her like a sadistic hug.

Thane moves towards her slowly, like approaching a pacing tiger. Like he thinks she’ll snap at any moment and bite his head off. It’s happened before, she so lost in her death, she hadn’t realized he wasn’t an enemy. She falls against him when he’s close enough, oddly aware of the noise she’s making. She stands on the outside, seeing their bodies together in a tight embrace.  _ Don’t bring more attention to yourself.  _ The couple goes down, Thane’s back against the cabinets and her against his chest.

Her robe swallows her, making her feel small and safe against him, head throbbing as she breathes rapidly and tries to calm herself down from the fit. Thane’s hand brushes the back of her scalp lightly, saying nothing. 

His silence is reassurance. He’s there.  _ Real. _

Eventually Shepard’s sobbing subsides and all that remains are the puffy eyes and a headache, he speaks, his whiskey voice breaking through the exhaustion fog. “Siha, why didn’t you come to me sooner?” His hand continues playing with her blonde hair, following each strand until it slips from his fingers to fall onto her back. She knows he’s attempting to look down on her by the pressure of his chin on the top of her head. 

“I didn’t want to bother you. You have enough going on.” There’s no excuse. It’s the truth plain and simple.

“You are my priority,” he says. “You are my love and you come first before all, even myself.”

“You’re dying, Thane. Stupid dreams shouldn’t push that aside.”

Thane rumbles with a sigh, his fingers circling on her scalp. She’s afraid to sleep, to feel the weightlessness in her stomach as she freefalls. “These aren’t stupid dreams. You are forced to go through something no other human--or being does. You are dying again and again in those dreams.”

Shepard laughs, wiping her cheeks. “Dying. Falling. Burning. But I’m Odessa Shepard and I can handle anything, right?” At least that’s how the media portrays her. An unmovable, unthinking killing machine set out to save the universe from the geth threat. 

He says nothing, the silence growing as they stay on the floor of the kitchen. “Let’s move you back to your cabin,” he says quietly, helping her up. With his arms wrapped around her, they take the elevator back up to the top floor of the ship, her doors welcoming her back into the room shining in blue light. “Siha, know you can come to me for anything, even if I am actively on my deathbed.”

“Don’t say that,” she says, wiping fresh tears from her cheeks. “God, don’t say that.” Thane unties the robe, tossing it across the room onto the couch. She wears nothing but her sports bra and a pair of simple black panties. 

Thane’s fingers dance across her stomach, encouraging her to move towards the bed, picking up the blanket as they pass it. “Don’t leave me,” Shepard whimpers, glaring at the wall with how weak she sounds. “Please.”

He sheds his jacket, slipping into the bed next to her, pressing his chest to her back. “Sleep Siha. I’ll be here.” A song drifts into the room, soft and deep herding her into oblivion.


	3. remember her in the fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after Shepard's death, Garrus finds something new to help him with his grief.

The smell of bleach and medicine assaults his nostrils. Maybe breathing out his mouth would help, but  _ damnit,  _ he can taste the chemicals. They dance across his delicate tongue, destroying his taste buds. The smell imprints itself in him, making him its home. It curls up in his lungs, staying for the long haul. Indefinite. No lease signed. Seeing her lay still on the bed with wires attached to every bit of charred skin, she looks so small. 

How they found her are incomprehensible memories stored in the back of his mind. GArrus tries to conjure up the job he felt when they announced they found her. His heart skipping a beat as they spoke as if she was alive. But they brought her bloody and broken body from the debris of the Citadel to the  _ Normandy’s  _ med-bay. An image that forces itself against his eyelids, no matter how much he tries to chase it away. Chakwas was clear she didn’t have the tools to help Shepard, but Garrus clearly remembers his panic. The pure terror in his voice, the begging. Eventually, she relented to him, though she made no guarantees to save Shepard’s life. 

“She’s in rough shape,” Chakwas says, putting her hand on his arm, bringing him out of his tortured memories. “But you are also in rough shape. You need to get some rest. What good are you in this state? You wouldn’t be any help to her. She’d want you to sleep.”

His wounds didn’t matter. Despite the throbbing pain in his back and the almost blinding pain in his keep, he stays by her side. Nothing in the world, not even a second batch of Reapers, could tear him away. He knocks her hand away, looking up at the human woman. “I can’t sleep while she’s here. Look at her,” he chokes out, his mandibles quivering with pent up anger.

“Garrus,” Chakwas sighs. “She wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

Garrus looks up away from her, lights spotting across his vision. She leaves him, turning on her heel until the doors close behind her. “Shepard… Shepard…” 

Two days ago, they were discussing adopting a krogan child. Three days ago, he held her as she fell back into a restless slumber as she woke up from a nightmare. Her flesh incredibly hot against his. Would that come again? Could they revive her from the coma she fell into?

The door opens again, Shepard’s heartbeat slowing down. He stood, stretching out everything, craning his neck up to release the muscles from the cramped position, never letting go of Shepard’s hand. “Tell me doc, please tell me she’ll make it through.”

He glances at Chakwas, her fingers gripping the datapad tighter. He notices her knuckles whiten, her mouth turned down slightly in the corners. “She’s barely holding on. It’s torture to keep her alive in this state, Garrus,” she says, meeting his eyes.

Garrus drops her hand and turns to face Chakwas. Her voice drowns out in his misery, more a vid set too low on volume to properly hear. One question stands out among the words.  _ Will you take her off support?  _ Tears threaten to fall as he falls by her bedside, burrowing his face into Shepard’s body

“I can’t. I can’t be the one who decides that,” he says. His head lays on her chest gently, listening desperately for her heartbeat. There is none. It’s empty. Looks like he doesn’t have to decide.

*

Days of countless drinking to rid him of the pain in his head only renders him helpless as they lay her in the ground. A six foot long coffin buried in a six foot deep trench. He doesn’t know what she would want, but people in black, standing around mourning her is definitely not something she would want. He coughs weakly, drinking from his not so inconspicuous brown bagged alcohol bottle.

“You’re being a dumbass,” Jack says, stopping next to him and pulling the bottle away from him. For a moment he thinks she’s going to take a drink, but rather she turns it upside down, spilling the liquid onto the ground. He lets out a whimper, too tired and weak to fight her. “She was loved by more than just you,” she continues, her voice cracking. Tears run down her cheeks and she catches his eyes in a fierce glare. “She was treasured by this entire galaxy and yet you’re the only one who acts like you lost her. Stop drinking. You know that’s not what she would want.”

In front of both of them, there is a small fire illuminating the black silhouettes of camping chairs put out by someone earlier. It wasn’t his decision to have this small funeral. If it were up to him, not that anyone would trust his judgement, he went straight for the bottle when she died, her body still warm in the med-bay, he would’ve released her out into the space, somewhere peaceful.

But it was… it was… Joker. It was Joker who insisted on bringing her back to earth and burying her in her hometown. 

Jack leaves him, taking the first seat offered to her. The old  _ Normandy  _ crew gathers around the fire, each sitting with their hands together, making small conversation. Garrus knows she’s right. Shepard was more than just his. She  _ is  _ the hero of the galaxy, selflessly giving herself. He clears his throat and sits down, the old cew smiling at him. 

“The first time I met Shepard, I accused her of judging me based on my illness. Open mouth, insert foot here,” Joker says, a little grin spread across his lips. EDI leans against him, mechanical eyes reflecting the fire. He sits back, stretching his arm around her. 

“No you didn’t,” Liara breathes, putting her hands to her mouth.

Joker puts his palms up, his grinning widening. “I’m definitely an ass.”

Jack shakes her head. “No you aren’t,” she says, bursting with laughter. “It’s a fair assumption. I wasn’t nice to Shepard the first time I met her.” She shrugs. “Of course, you all were breaking me out of a prison I got myself into so…”

The moon rises in the sky, no one truly keeping track of time. They exchange story after story of Shepard, Garrus staying silent the whole time. “Come on, speak up,” Wrex says, his voice rumbling across the gap between them.

Liara grabs his talons, tears glistening on her cheeks, encouraging him to speak up. There is only one thing he can think of… “We wanted to adopt a krogan child,” he says, looking at Grunt and Wrex. “She always spoke so highly of everyone, always thinking the best before wanting to know the worst.” His voice catches on the word, a lump forming in his throat. He struggles to continue to speak. “Wrex, I’d still like to do that. Adopt a krogan child.”

Wrex nods, stoically silent, perhaps not wanting to show emotion. Though Garrus thinks he catches the glimmer of tears in the corner of the krogan’s eyes.

They continue until the fire dies down, ember giving off little warmth, each of them getting up and going back to their tents, temporarily forgetting the sadness in death.

*

Garrus stands in the well-lit, warm room holding a newborn krogan child in his arms. As big as the adults are, the babies are absolutely tiny. She grips his talon, bringing it into her mouth and sucking on it until she’s asleep.

“You could almost say we’re overpopulating,” Wrex says with a soft laugh. “All kinds of people come ad adopt a krogan child. It’s amazing to see these children get homes with those I--” His words are cut off with a wet cough. He presses a hand to his mouth, turning his massive head away from Garrus.

“Shepard would love this,” Garrus says, gently bumping Wrex with his shoulder. “She’d want us to continue on as if she never died. As if she was still her with us. You know she’s watching us.” Ever since the funeral, he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol, Jack’s words sobering him quickly. 

As he bounces the child slowly, Wrex peers over his arms. “Have you thought of a name?”

Garrus sighs deeply. “There’s an old human word. Japanese word I think.” Not that he knew the difference between any of them. “Kintsukuori. Kin for short. It’s an old practice of piecing together broken pottery with gold. With her, I’m fixing myself. Starting over. Living the life Shepard deserved to live with me.” Garrus smiles, tears streaking his face-plates. “I miss her.”

The two of them stand in silence for a moment before Garrus nods to Wrex and makes his way back to the ship that brought him. His sister and father eagerly awaiting the newest family member.


	4. la muerte nos separa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH
> 
> Reyes must live with the death of a loved one and cope the only way he knows how. By finding her killer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a piece I believe I wrote for Reyes Appreciation week back in 2017. This piece is longer and more fleshed out than the original.

There are moments in life where you take a breath and it’s gone. A blink of the eye and you miss it forever. Play it back in your head, going over every little detail you remember, knowing the more you think about it, the more skewed it becomes. 

This is his moment.

“How can you stand this heat?” Ana asks around a mouthful of strawberries he was able to procure just for her. Her hair sweeps forward in the wind, catching in her open mouth smile.

Reyes stays silent, staring at her, taking every detail in. The way the Kadara sun caresses her reddening skin and the juice of the strawberries drip from her chin. He smiles in response to the thudding of his heart at the sight of her. “It reminds me of home back on Earth.”

Ana sneaks a look at him, grinning even wider, not caring about the mess she has in her mouth. Her tongue wiggles among crushed red fruit.

A sound rings out across the sand, rocks and plants, barely heard over his laughter. It ends in her skull, a deadening thump that erases the bubble of serenity around them. Forward she falls, strawberries bubbling out of her mouth.

There’s nothing after that. No more shots. No glint of the rifle as he desperately looks for it. Ana lays face first in the dirt, blood trickling from her wound, mixing with the bright red. The colors are frightening similar.

It isn’t anger that grips him, it’s  _ rage.  _ With a control he isn’t aware he’s capable of, he flips her on his back and closes her eyes. His omni-tool dings once, twice, three times as messages flood in. SAM must’ve told them something happened. Reyes shuts it off.

He needs to dig. 

Part of being the Charlatan requires him to carry a shovel in the back of his vehicle. Sometimes death is unavoidable.

But this… this is completely unavoidable. Or maybe it isn’t. Reyes turns his back on Ana’s body and digs.

His hands shake, lungs constrict, he digs.

Leaning on the shovel, he stares down at the hole before him. It’s hours into digging, unable to stop himself. The longer he digs, the longer she’s his.

Now she’s no one’s but the stars.

Reyes picks up her body and lays her in the hole. Maybe she deserves a coffin, perhaps a service for what she’s done for human kind, but this is what needs to be done. It’s not right to allow her to be left out for the scavengers. 

He covers her slowly, inch by inch, watching his Ana disappear into the earth.

One breath. Two. Three. Four. Breathe. Just fucking breathe.

He takes in his surroundings, mostly locking the location into his head. He spies a plant not far from her grave, remembering her telling him it reminds her of the ferns of Washington. 

Gently, he carefully digs the plant up and moves it to the head of the mound. 

There Reyes stands, a moment of silence for what was lost. He turns away, turning his omni-tool back on, vowing to find out who did this.

 

**

 

Reyes parks behind Tartarus, sitting at the wheel for a moment before getting out. “I tried to stop him. He--” Reyes holds up a hand to stop the young man from having a heart attack. He knows exactly which of her crew forced his way into Reyes’s private chambers.

“It's fine.” 

He walks into the club, the bass and probing lights creating an instant headache along the right temple. Ignoring the pain, the doors to his room open and someone is instantly on top of him, grabbing him from behind.

“You fucking bastard!” screams the voice. Ryker Ryder. Someone Ana talked endlessly about, but Reyes never met him. “If she hadn’t been out with you, she would be--”

Ryker spins Reyes around, almost a perfect copy of his sister. Those blue eyes, exactly her shade. The hair. The temper. Ill-advised plans.

Reyes stands there, resisting the urge to fight back as Ryker’s fist lands on his cheek. He staggers against the wall, fingers pressing into the swelling flesh. “You don’t know that. She is--was Pathfinder. They could’ve been targeting her for that and it had nothing to do with me,” Reyes growls, but he knows that rationalization is to simply make himself feel better. 

 “But you are partially right. I’m not guiltless in this.” The rage boils up in his throat, threatening to turn into a scream. He hasn’t had a proper way to grieve, to push past the build of emotions in his chest. They weigh on him like a sack of rocks. “I will find who did this.”

Rage turns into tears falling down his cheeks, gathering and dripping off his chin. He’s pulled forward into Ryker’s chest, arms wrapping around him. “I’ll help you.” The men stay in their embrace for a long time, neither speaking.

 

**

 

There are nights Reyes didn’t want to get into his bed. Flashes of of Ana lay waiting behind his lids.

There are mornings Reyes didn’t want to leave his bed. The only place he sees Ana is behind his lids.

Ana stays in her grave atop that cliff. Ryker wants to dig her up and give her a proper funeral, but Reyes convinces him otherwise. It wouldn’t be good for the Nexus if its people see their symbol of hope as a corpse. Instead they hold the service without the body, naming Cora as Pathfinder. 

Tann attempted to hand it off to Ryker, much to Reyes’s amusement, but her brother made it very clear. He didn’t want to be tied down. Not with Ana’s killer still out and walking.

But they aren’t any closer to finding her killer.

Ryker spends most of his time with Reyes, the two of them forming an unexpected bond. She never spoke highly of her brother, but Ana loved him for his short, impatient ways. And Reyes enjoys his company because sometimes he can swear it’s like having her right there again. 

They spend months in the backroom, going over any and all data SAM recorded of that day. Visiting the sight of her grave again and again  to find some hidden clue.

The first time Ryker visited her grave, it wasn’t to look for clues of her killer. It’d been a month into their investigation, and it was clear he was avoiding the entire thing. Reyes went alone during that first month. When Ryker saw that grave, he broke down, his breaths coming out ragged and short. There were tears and screams and wordless questions mostly asked with his eyes.  _ Why? Why would someone cut her down? _

Reyes couldn’t answer him.

But an angaran name Sinrin or Sin has answers. Answers she offers for free on two stipulations First that they meet at Ana’s grave. Not in Tartarus, not in the Port. And second, he comes alone. He nearly says no, but months of no leads forces his hand. He doesn’t tell Ryker this, suspecting her brother’ll be unhappy, but the hunt with bring them together again. The ability to look her killer in the face and ask them why they shot her. 

Reyes would be stupid to go unarmed though.

The moon rises slowly over the cliffs, casing the brown earth in a silver flow. Sin’s already there, standing over Ana’s grave, hands clasped in front of her. 

“It’s been taken care of,” Sin says, keeping her back to him.

“Excuse me?” Reyes rests his hand on his pistol.

“The man who shot the Pathfinder. He’s been taken care of.”

It dies inside of him. Or something does. He doesn’t quite know what, but her words kill a part of him. The rage, her memory, his love… he couldn’t tell. “I…”

“She was a symbol of hope for the angaran too, you know,” Sin says, finally turning to face him. Her purple skin almost ethereal in the moonlight, feline-like eyes glowing.

“Did you ever find out why he killed her?” It’s a question he and Ryker desperately need answered. Maybe it’ll lead to something deeper, but she shakes her head. 

There are moments you never miss. Moments that haunt you years later, nagging at the back of your mind when you least expect it. They never leave you alone and never will

This is his.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
